


Harry Makes a Business Proposition

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, First Kisses, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry thinks his life could use more fun and adventure, and he knows just the person he wants to share in all this with <3
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 80





	Harry Makes a Business Proposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tashadlv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashadlv/gifts).



> Agatha Christie's "The Secret Adversary" begins with the band and woman coming up with a business idea over tea and buns and toast. This isn't quite the same thing, dear Tasha, but you asked for some Harry and Hermione, and I hope you enjoy <3 You're wonderful and I'm thankful for the time this year to get to know you! Thank you for being so fabulous <3 
> 
> No alpha or beta, all errors are my own.

* * *

“Hermione!” I wave with exaggerated excitement, allowing an absurd smile to split my face. “How in the name of Merlin are you, love?”

The witch, my friend, my person, my everything, _my Hermione_ , walks up, no more than ten feet from me now. Confusion marks her features, but still she answers brightly, “Harry!”

And throws her arms around me.

Throws.

Her.

Arms.

Around.

_Me._

She means to be playing along with whatever mood I’m in today—the girl prone to hugs and open displays of emotional outbursts has grown and matured into someone slightly more reserved. Saved for when with me, thankfully.

I hug her back, relishing in the curves and softness of her body before she pulls away.

She starts to ruffle my hair, something playful and familiar, but that morphs into something else. Something… I can’t exactly explain. Not yet at least.

“Oops,” she mutters. “Looks like you’d finally had a good day with the comb. I shouldn’t have messed it up.”

“Mess it up all you like,” I blurt out. “Anytime you like.”

Her warm, chocolate- brown eyes dart to mine and perhaps it’s my imagination, but I think… maybe her breath hitches.

Maybe? Possibly?

I wink at her and pull away enough to link arms with her and pull her towards the tea shop. Not a conversation I want to have on the streets of Diagon Alley—if one’s to ever happen, that is.

“Come along, no time to waste on the sidewalk, we’ve business to discuss this afternoon break. And knowing how punctual you are with timing, I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a table already.”

“Thanks, Harry.” We enter the tea shop before she can say more, and are led to a smaller table ensconced in the back of the establishment. It faces a window because I know Hermione loves watching people go by (much as I’d rather she only watch _me)_. She unfolds her napkin and lays it over her lap. “I’ve told them I’m not coming back in the office today, though. All that’s left if paperwork that can be done at home… You know how that goes.”

“Mhm,” I hum, trying desperately to contain my brimming excitement. What an idea, and she sounds more than primed to try for it. I hope at least. “A plate of scones and a pot of lemon curd to split?”

She nods and studies the list of teas on her menu. “Some clotted cream this time, too. And I think just Earl Grey this time. I don’t care for these experimental blends they’re trying right now.”

I wince in memory of the last two pots we’ve tried and their repugnant lingering aftertastes… “As you wish.”

A waitress takes our order and Hermione laces her delicate fingers together over the table and leans forward. “Now to business, _old_ _bean_.” She’s teasing me from my greeting, but I don’t care. I enjoy it. Hell, I smile right along with her.

I can’t help it.

Hermione makes me smile more than I ever thought possible. She’s the friend who always wrote to me on school holidays. She’s always looked out for me and thought of what’s best _for_ me, even when I haven’t wanted to hear it. And she’s…well. It’s not an official something. Because _something_ ought to happen for there to be _anything_ going on. And it’s not progressed beyond lingering looks, hugs, and pecks on the cheek that last a few seconds longer than “just friends” would.

Not much to count as _something_ or _anything,_ yet.

Emphasis on _yet_ , though.

Because she’s clearing her throat and I’m realising now I’ve been looking at her, into her eyes, this whole time and not said anything back. And between all my thoughts of ‘something’ and ‘anything’, I’ve no idea where we are in the conversation.

“Harry?” She blinks and licks her lips, and that doesn’t help.

Because I want to follow the trail of her tongue with mine. I want to rise up from my chair, close the distance between us and pillow her lips with mine. Something slow that’s asking if I’ve been misreading all the signs… Or if she’s just been waiting for me to make a move… And then tasting—oh, Godric. Tasting the sweetness of Hermione Granger at last. Tasting, nipping, sucking, and kissing, kissing, _kissing_ …

“Tea.” A piping pot slams on the table between us, and I’m rudely yanked back to reality. “Scones. Lemon curd. Clotted cream. Oh and we’re trying a batch of kumquat marmalade, so here’s a sample. On the house.”

The waitress walks off without another word, at least, not any we’re meant to hear, I reckon. There’s a great deal of huffing and bemoaning of an aching back and some bunions, and that helps. Hermione and I share a several seconds of laughter, and that cuts through any awkwardness I’ve brought to this gathering. And brings me back on point.

“To business then,” I start, loading my plate and waiting for Hermione to finish pouring her tea. “It actually is a business proposition, and you can consider it a birthday present if you say ‘yes’.”

“It’s not my birthday yet, Harry.”

“ _Early_ birthday, then.” I blow out a breath and drum my fingers over the table. _Here goes nothing_. “Hear me out before you say ‘no’, because I’ve put a great deal of thought into this. You’re bored with work; I’m bored with work. Bored stiff. I’m twenty-four; you’re almost twenty-five. We each have savings and talent. And I think this is the time to make fun memories.”

“Fun memories?” She blows on her tea before taking a slow sip, then lowers the cup to the table. “So, weekly pub nights, a monthly game night, and Saturday Quidditch matches that I frequently attend and watch… you wouldn’t call any of that fun?”

“I would—I do!” I drag a hand through my hair and clear my throat. “But what if we could have more fun with work. Doing the things we love to do.”

She makes a face. “And that would be…?”

“Precisely what we’re doing,” I answer, slapping my hand down on the table. “Minus all the clogging of paperwork and Ministry ordinances and funding to hold us back.”

That face of hers doesn’t go away. “I’m still confused.”

“We start our own consulting company, love!” Her brows lift and I realise how loud I’m talking, but I can’t help it now. I’m excited— _this_ is thrilling. Could be the start of something…

 _Something_.

I lower my voice as a I continue though, for the sake of privacy and Hermione’s sense of decorum. “I’ve had some thoughts and have the beginnings of a business plan and how we advertise ourselves. I’m an Auror, you’re a Magizoologist, and we can be the perfect team for nearly anything strange and out of the ordinary that doesn’t warrant official Ministry notice or involvement. Working for ourselves would give more freedoms and less chances of documentation in triplicate.”

“You’ve… you’ve already put thought into this.” She licks her lips as she stares at me. Unblinking. I can’t decide if she’s asking a question or stating what she thinks is a fact. “You’ve made all these plans without me, yet want to include me?”

“No!” I lunge across the table for her hand. “That’s not—it’s not all—but I _have_ —“ I pause. Blow out another breath. Hold her gaze. “You like plans and precision. You like order and knowing to expect. I didn’t want to just come to you like the same old Harry I used to be. Half-arsed ideas at best with lots of luck. I wanted to have some idea and direction down to show you I’m serious and I think this could be a good plan.”

“Long-term?”

I shrug. “I can’t say for sure on that. No one can. But I can say I think we’re young enough now with enough saved up to take a year or two for some chances. And I think we should agree on a time to commit to this. Two years or round about there to give this an honest go of it. And if it’s not making money or one of us or both of us are ready for something else by then, we’ll have some laughs and more experience for the next thing.”

She’s wearing her thinking face. The one I can’t read if I’ve done something horribly wrong or right. The one that hides how hard she’s breathing, but I can see in the way her chest heaves, that I’ve messed up somehow. “Is that why we’re here? A business proposition.”

“Well, yes.” Something in my heart breaks. There’s a watery edge to her voice, and I’ve done something wrong. And I _need_ to learn what it is so I can fix it. “It would just be me and you—Ron’s too settled with Gabrielle and their kids. I haven’t asked him, but I was hoping we could tackle telling him about it together. Of course if that’s what you’re concerned about, feelings and all, we can leave the door open _to_ include him, but—“

“It’s not that, Harry.” Her voice is soft and low as she interrupts me. She gives a shake of her head. “Not that at all.”

“Did I do too much planning or thinking without you? I’m sorry, love. Really, I—I didn’t think that would—“

“Harry.” She squeezes my hand as she shushes me. Her thumb traces over my knuckles and sparks shoot up my arm and down my spine. “I’m not upset with you about this. I think it’s a fabulous idea, and we should do it.”

My face pinches in confusion. “You don’t look as happy as you’re trying to convince me that you are.”

A half smile tugs at her lips. “I love it, I do. It’s a wonderful idea, and we’ll have a lot of fun with this, even if it’s not a longterm financial success.

“But…?” There’s a ‘but’. I know there’s a ‘but’ coming. It makes my heart sink. 

“Is that all?” She pause. Sucks a sharp breath. Then: “Is this the only reason we’ve each left work early and are here today?”

“I…” _Careful. Very careful._ I clear my throat, eyes dropping to our joined hands. To where her thumb is still tracing patters over my skin. My voice is husky, almost pleading, as I ask, “Was there— _is_ there something else you wanted to talk about?”

I scoot my chair close and lift my gaze to her…

I’m not disappointed by what I see.

It’s Hermione.

Classic Hermione waiting for me to pluck up my courage and nerve. She looses a puff of air that lifts an errant curl, dancing it around her face. I think I hear her mutter a curse, but I tell myself I’m wrong, because Hermione rarely curses—

But I could be wrong about being wrong, too—

Because Hermione doesn’t normally lean over tables and risk knocking over plates and tea—

And kiss wizards.

Kiss.

There are lips pressed into mine. Smashed is more like it. I breathe in sharply and I know it can be no one else other than Hermione kissing me. No one else smells of lavender, ink, and parchment…

I bring my hand up to her neck, just to confirm—

Curls. Silken curls around and between my fingers and I am lost. I open my mouth to taste, and—

Yeah.

Hermione tastes like tea and the sweet and citrusy tart of the curd. She makes breathy sounds that do _things_ to me—in place of me that should not be reacting in public…

I groan and sink into the kiss. The kiss that’s probably messy at best, and not my best form, not that I can hear Hermione complaining or pushing me away…

Until she _is_.

Pulling away, that is. Not the complaining.

She’s beaming as I open my eyes, and there’s a dusting of pink across her freckled cheeks.

My lips tingle and I don’t want to go back to whatever it was we were doing _before_ the kissing started, but… “Shall we—em—keep talking business here or…”

“I think in the spirit of fun—“ She smirks and I’d forgotten how her the flecks of gold and green in her eyes dance when she’s smirks. “We should resume this conversation at my place. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I do. I very much do.

And that’s what I tell her as I throw down more than enough Galleons to cover our unfinished tea and scones. She reaches for my hand and I’m all to eager to tangle our fingers together as we exit the shop, kissing and giggling, and fumbling our way to the Apparition point.


End file.
